


Part of You

by Claire_Bear



Series: All of Me. [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hunters & Hunting, Love, Mental Anguish, Past Character Death, Sex, Torture, Unrequited Hate, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire_Bear/pseuds/Claire_Bear
Summary: Millicent Taylor has never been a hard girl to figure out. She has always been honest and dedicated to her work and her passions. But as a hunter, the lines begin to blur. Struggling with her own reality, Milly begins to question the meaning of 'till death do us part. Finding herself torn between her first love, his younger brother and her hunting lifestyle; Milly begins to question all that she stands for.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

Her palm pressed reliantly against the cool stone of the cell wall; darkness cornering her. Her cool gaze remained fixed on the slick floor, as a warm liquid oozed between her toes; goose bumps racing up her legs. As a metallic scent tinged her senses, she held her jagged breath; her lips clenched. A slight suckling sound could be heard a few feet to her left, accompanied by the desperate mewling of a victim. Clenching the wall tightly in her palm, she turned her head to the wall and rested her forehead against the cool surface. The ripping of flesh struck her ears; a vague gurgling followed, but soon silenced itself. Footsteps resounded, and a finger lithely ran across a small vein in her neck. Her breathing hitched as a blonde curl was draped across her opposite shoulder, exposing her neck.

 

Her body was limp and scathed; her energy diminished. Her clothes torn, and her pride abused. For months she had attached herself to the hope that she would be rescued, or at least found. For the past few weeks, she had been kicking herself for being so naïve. The echoing darkness had now become a tangible reality, instead of a material witness to her grievances. Lord help her if she could remember what daylight looked like. Hell, if she could remember what _she_ looked like. Blinking lazily, her conscious stirred as a sharp pain dug into her neck. Fleetingly, anger flushed through her; a deep growl resounded in her throat as she dug the heel of her foot into her aggressor’s toes. Stunned, his teeth withdrew from her skin. Lithely, she turned and pressed her back against the wall, using all her weight to slam her foot into his stomach. Enraged, the black figure clasped her shoulders and clouted her head against the stones.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Her vision blurred. It seemed no matter how many times she blinked, her mind could not conjure up the concentration to focus. Moaning lowly in frustration, Milly hung her head back lazily and locked glances with a pair of innocently dazed eyes. Frowning, she tried to bring her hands up to her face; but, instead, found them restricted and chaffed by rope. Slowly, she raised her head, her blonde plaited brushing the tips of her fingers. Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she opened them again and scanned her surroundings. Curtains; hammocks; clothes; the smell of relatively fresh air.

 

“D-Do you know where I am?” A whimper soft and helpless, drifted to her ears. Milly turned her head and met the gaze of the innocent, doe-eyed girl she had seen only moments before. Briefly, Milly scanned her face before grimacing and shaking her head.

 

“You’re new home!” His voice was husky but shrill; one she had come to loathe. The girl flinched, her eyes averting the male’s menacing gaze. Across the room, a brunette turned lithely; tall, flawless and quite frankly, leech-like. _Literally_. She made her way to him and embraced him passionately, her mouth instantly finding his.

 

Flinching in disgust, Milly shifted in her chair, “Keep it together, you two.” Luther broke from his mate and eyed her eerily. Cupping Kate’s face, he kissed her once more, before averting his attention.

“The hunter finally has a voice. It’s been a long time coming.” He leaned down in front of her, his hands resting on his bent knees and smirked, “Where are your friends, _Millicent_ , still not here?”

 

Goaded, Milly lunged forward in her seat; her blonde curls flying around her flushed face, “Drop the name before I drop you, bloodsucker.” Luther laughed mockingly as he looked back at his mate and the now, flocking, crowd. Without warning, he whipped around and clipped her on the jaw; sending her mind reeling. Milly’s grey eyes lifted heavily, as blood trickled down from the side of her mouth as she gave him a gory grin. Without remorse, Luther swung at her again; his knuckles colliding with her cheek. A sickening _crack_ resounded as Milly’s head snapped to the side, and then lolled to rest on her heaving chest.

 

The girl behind her, roped to a pillar, released a small scream. Failing to stifle it, Luther’s cold stare flicked to her as he licked his lips. The brunette leant down beside him; running her hands up and over his shoulder suggestively, “We bought you a treat, my love.” Luther chuckled, clearly enticed as he made his way over to the frightened girl. Possessively, he ran a hooked finger across her cheek; his eyes trained on the pulsing vein in her neck.

 

“W-What are you going to do to me?” Milly rolled her eyes at such a cliché question, mumbling under her breath. Casting her babbling aside, Luther bit into Kate’s forearm and guided her to the girl.

 

“Why darlin’, we’re gonna give you the time of your life.” The crowd had receded, uninterested in the toying; which Milly found hard to believe. Raising her head, she spat excess blood onto the floor and wiped her mouth on her flannel-covered shoulder. Sharply, her head was yanked back by her hair as she came eye to eye with Luther. Milly’s grey orbs were piercing as she licked her blood-chapped lips.

 

“You touch her, and I’ll kill you myself.” Her tone was neutral; not a skerrick of emotion could be found. Luther gazed behind her and nodded at Kate. Milly could hear the muffled but frantic shuffling of the girls boots as the brunette leech fed her, her blood. Closing her eyes briefly, Milly attempted to compartmentalise her internal emotions. Inhaling sharply, she reared her head back and belted the bridge of Luther’s nose with her forehead. Swearing, Luther threw her back and off balance as Milly’s chair collided with the floor and jammed her hands.

 

Giving her the time she needed, Milly wriggled free and scrambled to her feet. Heartlessly, she glared at Luther for only a moment before she turned and faced the nest’s entry. She only made it a few steps before she was thrown backwards by the re-gathering crowd. Landing squarely on her backside, Milly swore and rolled onto her knees. Caught blind-sided, Milly felt the seething pain of a knee to her ribcage, before another member kicked her in the back.

 

Luther’s whisper was lethal, before he slammed her face into a wooden floorboard, “Who’s the dead one now?”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

_Yeah, nice one Mil._ She chastised herself as she came to; with her feet dangling above ground and her lungs feeling as if they were about to burst. Warm blood trickled down her forehead as she winced at her oncoming migraine. Glancing around, Milly could make out the daylight through tiny gaps in the nest’s walls. With great effort, she tried to swing her legs up towards the dangling rope; but, to no avail. Damn, she felt useless. Releasing a breath of exhaustion, she shook her head vigorously as the edges of her vison began to blur and darken; her body began to lax. _No, damnit, n…_

“Milly? _Come on, Mil!_ ” Milly’s eyes sprung open as she felt a warm hand lift her face up. Her cool grey eyes scanned his features before her face crumpled.

 

“Luther, please, stop.” Her tone was hushed, her brow furrowed in confusion, “I..” Milly shook her head in distress; trying to escape her burdened hallucinations. Her arms had begun to severely ache, while her chest seemed to shrink as she tried to wriggle free; her toes only scraping the floorboards.

 

“Mil, it’s m- “

 

“I said bugger o- “Her voice raised an octave, before a hand clamped over her lips firmly.

 

“God damnit, Mil. What’re you tryin’ to do? Wake up the whole damn nest?”  His hazel eyes searched her face; trying to find _her_ , within the rifled mess she had become. “Sammy, give me a hand, would ya?” Milly’s eyes widened as she watched the 6’5 male reach above her and untie the ropes. Relieved, her ligaments cascaded down upon Dean’s shoulder as he caught her, “I got ya, Mil.” Setting her right on her feet, Dean held his arms out protectively as a precaution; watching her sway, “Where’s the Colt?”

 

Milly blinked a few times, her lips parted slightly. Surely this had to be a dream; for months she had hoped, and for months nothing had happened. Scraping her knotted hair away from her face, Milly scanned Dean’s face; the face she would have been able to pick out of a crowd without a second glance. The face she had longed to see come and find her; the face that kept her sane. Yet, his immediate question seemed to contradict it all; clearly, he was more concerned about the damn Colt, then the fact they had just found her, hanging from a rope, after missing for six months. Lightly, she chuckled in disbelief, glared pointedly around her and then mockingly patted him on the shoulder.

 

“Milly, we don’t have time for this – “Dean said to her empathetically as she turned her back and leant down to pick up a stray wrench. Silently, she walked over to a cage and unhooked the hinge. The sound rebounded off the walls; echoing through the nest. They all stood still. When none of the filled hammocks shifted, Milly discarded the hinge and pointed the wrench in the direction of Luther’s room. Dean’s brow furrowed as he bent his knees slightly, glancing into the shadows of the wired cage. If he looked close enough, he would be able to make out folded bodies cramped into the small space; their faces drowning in fear. Briefly, he glanced at Milly expectantly before he shot Sam a look of desperation, from across the room. _Dad_ , Sam mouthed as he jutted his head in the direction of Luther’s chamber. Crouching, Milly attempted to usher her fellow captives out of their prison; her hands tenderly outstretched. But none moved. Pursing her lips, Milly rubbed the back of her head as she swivelled on her haunches to face the open space of the nest; they needed some reassurance, some hope that they could escape unharmed. As her cool gaze flittered across the room, her attention landed on Sam; kneeling, as he lifted the face of the girl tied to the pillar. Milly shifted forward suddenly, shaking her head furiously; but it was too late. The girl awoke with a shriek, unlike any other.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

The fledgling’s shriek tumbled through the walls of the nest; creating a relative domino effect within the building. Before either brother could get a word in, vampire feet were bounding across the floorboards to get to them. Instinctively, Milly leapt in front of Dean and swung the wrench into the jugular of an oncoming vampire.

 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice boomed through the nest, as he pointed in the direction of their father. As Milly glanced through the commotion, she could see Sam’s figure tumbling on the ground; his hands wrapped around a vampire’s neck.

 

“Boys! Run!” Although he could not be seen, John Winchester’s voice was clear and directive. Without flinching, Milly shoved Dean towards the door as she bolted towards Sam. Swinging her wrench, she mustered up her strength for one last blow to the vampire’s head. Emotionless, she flicked her head in the direction of the entry before averting her attention to Luther’s room; as a deafening thud shook the walls of the nest.

 

Gripping onto the wrench as if her life depended on it, Milly raised her weapon to eye level. Turning into the door way she glared at Luther, who stood on the opposite end of the room.

 

“…Milly?” John’s voice was strained, as she glanced down at him. Giving him a wry smirk, she entered the room and swung the wrench.

 

“Dad?!” The boys’ voices came through the walls, muffled. Scrambling to his feet, John bolted out the door.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“Dad?!” Dean and Sam shared a worried expression as their father burst through the bush.

 

“Where’s Milly?” Dean’s eyes paused on the trees; sifting through their trunks for any sight of her.

 

“She… She was right behind me.” John ran his fingers through his hair, mumbling profanities under his breath.

 

Biting his lip, Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, “We can’t _leave_ her there.” Dean nodded in suit; yet, they all remained silent. “Or the Colt.”

 

John sighed, his tone heavy, “Regardless, when a vampire gets your scent – it keeps it for life.” Dean and Sam shared a glance. “The nest won’t hunt until nightfall. We can trade the Colt for something that Luther wants.”

 

“Like?” Dean ruffled the back of his head with a flat palm, his eyes searching.

 

“His mate.” Sam filled in, reading his father’s expression. John nodded in shared understanding, “But how? How do we know Luther will go through with it?”

 

“When vampire’s mate; they mate for life,” John looked between his sons, “If we can secure Kate, we can trade her for the Colt.”

 

“Wait. What about Milly?” Dean furrowed his brow, his hazel eyes searching his father’s face, “Tell me we aren’t goin’ to leave her there, Dad?” He shifted uncomfortably, waiting for a reply.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly sat hunched, roped and blind-folded in the back seat of the four-wheel drive. This plan was absolute bullshit and they knew it. What were they gonna do? Use her for bait? The boys wouldn’t give a rats-arse what happens to her; that she knew.

 

 _Where’s the Colt?_ The first bloody thing he says to her in over six months. Milly shook her head in annoyance, and immediately regretted it, as her head thumped in response. Running her tongue over her chapped lips, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Not that it made much difference with the blindfold. _Dickhead_.

 

After what only seemed like minutes, Milly was pulled from the car. Well, yanked actually. Settling a low growl that sat in the midst of her throat, Milly stumbled before she caught her footing. Words were inaudible, the world was still dark; _not a bad gig_. Voices began to rise and became fiercer in tone before her blindfold was removed.

 

“You choose, boys. The Colt or your precious girl.” Luther clasped her upper arm with icy fingers as he pulled her to stand in front of him. Flicking her loose, blonde plait to one side, he bent down and sniffed her neck. Milly’s eyes briefly caught Dean’s as he stiffened.

 

“The deal was for the Colt.” John’s voice was stoic as he avoided both the boys’ gazes. Milly appeared to be unmoved by such a comment. As her eyes moved over the dead-man’s-blood-infused Kate, Milly made note of John’s apparent fancy for Luther’s hip. Gazing from her peripherals, she discerned the gun’s polished hilt holstered to his thigh. Shifting in her stance, Milly struggled dramatically as Luther’s grip tighten.

 

“The Colt or Millicent, Winchester.” Luther’s tone was final.

 

“It’s _Milly_.” Both Milly and Dean said simultaneously. She glimpsed at the older Winchester briefly before she snapped her head back and collided it with Luther’s upper lip and nose. Swiftly, with well-versed hands, she unholstered the Colt and flung it in the direction of John. To their misfortune, Kate had a damsel skill-set of her own, as she assaulted John and freed herself by flinging him back into the car door; leaving the Colt to fall onto the asphalt.

 

Between Milly, the Winchesters and the bloodsuckers; it seemed to be a good-ol’ fashioned stand-off. As Milly stood free of icy hands, she wondered why all had frozen; yet, as she turned, she noted the predicament.

 

“Touch the gun and I’ll snap his neck,” Luther’s grip was iron around Sam’s throat. Holding her breath, Milly scanned the younger brother’s reddening face; feeling utterly helpless. Time seemed to stand still; well, it had been standing still for the past six months, she blatantly noted.

 

Behind her, she heard the movement of shattered glass. It was now or never. Shifting her foot ever so slightly, she kicked the Colt to John; whom, without hesitation, aimed and fired. Milly’s ear rang as the shot released, what felt like, centimetres from her head. The grip on Sam was relinquished and Luther’s body began to convulse with lightening-like flashes, before he folded onto the road like a limp sack of sand; a clear, black-ringed hole burrowed into his forehead. Kate’s wail of anguish enveloped the shot of the Colt as she thrashed against the pulls and tugs of her companions; before Milly could blink, they were gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The common consensus was to burn Luther’s body for good measure. As if under the clock, the boys wasted little time lathering Luther’s body in fuel and lighting it with a single match.  

The heat of the flames licking at her cheeks was nothing in comparison to the burning rage Milly felt boiling inside of her. Her cool gaze danced with the flames as they engulfed the vampire’s corpse; her hands, although stuffed into the pockets of her torn jeans, clenched and unclenched in an unsettled rhythm. Trying to capture her attention, Dean had draped his leather jacket over her shoulders and squeezed lightly. The corner of her lip twitched in acknowledgment as she wrapped the jacket closer around herself, before turning away and climbing into the back of the Impala.

 

As if on cue, the three Winchester boys lopped themselves into the car and revved the engine. To her discomfort, Sam was shoved into the back; his 6’5 frame towering over her as he scooted across the back seat. His eyes breezed over her briefly, catching her flinch at his close proximity. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she caught his smile of pity as he looked her over from head to toe.

 

“Rough gig, huh?” He meant it as a light-hearted endearment, that much she knew. But it didn’t ease the numbness of the past six months. She scoffed jestingly as she pulled the leather jacket tighter around her and leaned towards the Impala’s window. _That’s an understatement._ Sam opened his mouth as if to attempt another joke or remark of relief; but decided otherwise as he turned his head away and glanced up towards the rear-view mirror. Perplexed, Milly did the same, only to find a set of hazel eyes looking back at her. Milly held his gaze for a few beats before she turned away; such scrutiny making her feel unnervingly overwhelmed. 

 

Milly had dreamt about this moment for months; it played out like a constant yet ever-changing reel in her head. She never knew how they would find her, but she trusted that they would. A month went past; then two; then four; and then by the time she stopped counting six had flown by her. Perhaps more, who knew anymore. She’d never been the type of girl who desired to be rescued; but this time, she was in over her head. It was a time she _needed_ Sam and Dean. Milly scoffed. _Needed_. The only time she relied on someone to get her out of shit creek and look where that got her.

 

Curling up in the backseat of the Impala, Milly bent her arm against the window and rested her head in the nook of her elbow. Pithily, she stole a glance at Sam; her shaggy hair brushing against his forehead as he browsed his computer screen. As if sensing her, he turned his head slightly and looked directly at her; his smile was warm and welcoming, saying all that she wanted to hear. _I’m glad you’re okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the story's a little slow to start - but I'm really wanting to dig my hands into this story; and get as much detail into as possible :) Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying it so far!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

_“Please tell me you have a plan.” His tone aired on the side of caution as he eyed her from his peripherals._

_“I told you I have a plan,” Milly shook her head lightly, as she clicked the chamber of her Browning ’45 shut and tucked it into her duffel bag. Tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear, Milly fiddled between her choice in a switchblade or a Gerber automatic. Biting the inside of her cheek, she snatched the Gerber and slipped it into her boot; while leaving the switchblade tucked neatly in between her packed lothes._

_Dean’s silence spoke more than he would care to admit. Opening the driver’s door of her ’65 Fastback Mustang, she threw her bag into the passenger seat before glancing at him over the rooftop. Her resolve softened as she read his expression; one of anxiety and worry, but never doubt. Tilting her head to the side, she smiled cheekily and winked, “Don’t wait up for me Cowboy, I’ll be back before the week’s out.”_

_Climbing into her baby, Milly started the engine with gusto as she turned her radio up and grooved to the lyrics of Achy Breaky Heart_.  _Shaking his head, Dean leaned against her open window and smirked, “Don’t leave me hangin’.”_

_Milly laughed heartily as she put her car into gear. Glancing down at her lap, she brushed her hair back from her eyes and leaned across the passenger seat, her expression expectant. Rolling his eyes, Dean reached in and tangled his fingers in her blonde curls at the back of her head; pulling her to him, he kissed her tenderly. Humming quietly, Milly ran her thumb across his cheek before she pulled away, “But don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart, I just don’t think you’d understand...”_

_Scoffing, Dean tapped the Mustang’s door with a flat palm, and smirked, “Get goin’ and take that damn awful song with you.”_

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly shuddered lightly as she woke. Her eyes felt groggy and her heart heavy; a result of the dreams she’d been having. _The memories_ , she’d remind herself. Rubbing her eyes, Milly squinted against the obnoxiously bright red light that glared through the Impala’s window.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“We’re gonna stop for the night. Some motel off the interstate.” Sam’s voiced was hushed as he ran his fingers back through his hair. Both Dean and John were out of the car; most likely checking them in. Sam yawned, his arms outstretched.

 

She felt awkward; not knowing what to say. _What do you say to someone who left you rot?_ She could feel Sam’s eyes on her; he always knew how to read her. Milly cast her cool, grey stare upon him and quirked a brow in question, “Either I missed the memo on the creepy staring contest or you have something you want to say.”

 

Sam cleared his throat; his expression one of internal torment, “We did look for you, Mil.”

 

Milly shifted uncomfortably. What could you say to that? How should you react? Toying with the strands spilling from the tip of her plait, Milly nodded; in understanding or compliance, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“We scoured everywhere for you. You just… disappeared.” His tone was one of apology and self-loathing; his eyes yearned for her to understand.

 

“Over-powered, imprisoned and tortured; actually.” Milly met his gaze with little empathy. Part of her wanted to scream and yell at them for being so weak and unyielding; the other part just wanted to crumble into a thousand pieces of trauma and fractured self-worth. But, she was stronger than that. She _needed_ to be stronger than that, “No big deal, Sam. I got through it, I’m here; I came back as I said I would.” Her derisive tone caused Sam to frown.

 

“How can you search for someone when they’ve gone completely off the grid?” He wasn’t arguing, just attempting to shed light on their perspective.

 

“That’s the point of a kidnapping, Sam.”

 

“It had been six months, Milly. We couldn’t hang onto false hope.”

 

Milly flinched just as Sam’s expression fell into one of defeat and acknowledged mistake. Slowly nodding, Milly relieved herself of Dean’s jacket and threw it onto Sam’s lap, “Just like you lost hope in finding John?”

 

“Mil – “Milly held her hands up in surrender and climbed out of the back seat.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

She wasn’t angry at the Winchester boys. She was angry at her circumstances…No, scratch that; she _was_ angry at the boys.

 

 _We couldn’t hang onto false hope._ What the hell was that meant to mean? Was that really all she was worth to that family? False, burdening hope? Milly threw her bag onto the motel bed and slammed the door behind her; infuriated by such a belligerent and bigoted comment. From _Sam_ , of all people. Rubbing her hands roughly over her face, Milly shoved her way through the ensuite door and wrung the hot water tap until steam began to clog every sense she had.

 

She stripped herself bare; ridding herself of the clothes she wore for those six months. The clothes that were the tangible evidence of her battered self-image and dignity. They say that trauma is the best foundation for humility and perseverance; when really all she felt was worn down and aged, at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Pumping the foaming soap into her hands, Milly’s eyes traced the movement of her fingers as they pressed down on the pump. Tranced. Blinking slowly, she looked down at her palm; covered in the bottle’s worth of soap. Vigorously, she rubbed the cleanser across her skin; her face, her chest, her back, her legs, her arms. She scrubbed until she thought the impurities were gone; but even then, she still felt dirty.

 

Her bottom lip trembled as she watched six month’s-worth of grim, blood and defilement circle the drain. How could she have let this happen?

 

 _How_ could she let people die right before her eyes?

 

 _How_ could she let herself lose hope?

 

 _How_ could she let six months go by without fighting back? _But I did fight back, god damnit._

 

 _How_ could she be so _weak_?

 

Engulfed, Milly lifted her hands to eye level and watched them tremble; the hands that allowed all these things to happen. Without another breath, she allowed herself to scream through clenched lips. Her chest began to tighten, and her breathing became shallow; her legs gave way and her cheeks began to drown in her tears. Tears of anguish. Tears of guilt. Tears of disappointment. With her back against the tiled wall, her head fell into the gap between her chest and her drawn up knees. Wrapping her arms around her shins, she allowed herself to cry. She allowed herself to be vulnerable; to be scared.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

After some time, Milly managed to wash her hair and clean herself up; although it hadn’t made her feel good-as-new, an old semblance of herself was empowered by the moment of self-care. Drying her blonde curls out with a towel, Milly rifled through the bag she had thrown onto the bed in her flurried entry. It was her back up bag; the one she had always kept stashed in the Impala in case of an emergency. It had never made sense to Dean, but maybe it had started to after her disappearance.

_Dean._

 

Milly grabbed what she needed and zipped the duffel bag up, perhaps a little too ferociously. Donning herself in an oversized tee and some underwear, she pulled back the stiff motel bed sheets.

 

“Milly?” She froze. Her cool gaze flicked to the closed door, before perusing the shadow cast below the door frame; the figure moving from side to side, “C’mon, Mil. It’s damn near freezin’.”

 

Pausing, she discarded the sheets messily and walked to the door and unlatched the lock. “What do you want, Dean?” She kept the door closed, adamant that letting him in was not an option.

 

“I just want to explain.”

 

“Yeah and I want a pony for Christmas,” Milly stiffened and waved her hand dismissively at the door, “Goodnight.”

 

Dean was silent. Closing her eyes briefly in relief, Milly turned and bee-lined for the warmth of the motel bed.

 

_Click._

Frowning, Milly glanced back at the door as it creaked opened. Lithely, Dean squeezed through the door’s entrance before she had time to re-write his intrusion. As he spoke, he ran a hand up the backside of his head and gave her his best boy-ish grin, “you… ah… You forgot to latch the lock.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Milly crossed her arms across her chest. Her face was flushed and her blonde curls wild, yet tamed; giving her an air of blatant annoyance, yet indisputable natural splendour. Moments passed, and words were not exchanged as Dean’s gaze wandered over her; his expression torn. Holding her hand up pointedly at the state of the door, Dean blinked and turned to face the open doorway, “Oh, yeah… right, my bad.”

 

“What do you want, Dean?” Milly shifted her stance tetchily, as she balanced one foot on top of the other, “If you’ve come here to explain yourself, your brother already did that for you.” Dean remained silent as he closed the door, listening to her speak; just hearing her voice again gave him a sense of release. Rubbing his hands together in thought, and well, purely to warm them up, he stood there, flicking his gaze between her and the motel room.

 

“I thought you were dead, Mil.” He cleared his throat, anxiously, “I know that ain’t no excuse bu – “

 

“You’re right it’s not, because I’m clearly still here, Dean.” He shot her a familiar look of impatience.

 

“I spent six months tryin’ to find you; I tried trackin’ you down, I had all my contacts on the look for you. Hell, I even picked up some of your old cases, thinkin’ maybe you got a fresh lead.” Dean expression was not one to describe. His eyes pierced her; begging her to understand the lengths he went to, “But when we got to Colorado and we found the Mustang and all your gear… Milly you hadn’t touched it for months, it was all there just like you had left it when you went away. I…”

 

Milly stood still. She could hear his words; yet, she couldn’t soak them in. She shook her head lightly and cast her eyes to the carpeted floor.

 

“Say somethin’, baby. Please. I’ll do whatever you need me to do…” Dean closed the gap between them; the gap that seemed to keep them separated for so long. The gap that made him feel barren and incomplete. Gently, he cupped her face with his hands; mindful not to frighten her or cross the boundaries she had so clearly put up. Her grey orbs were murky and flooded; they scanned his face, but her expression said all it needed to – her deepest, darkest feeling.

 

“You left me, Dean.” She clenched her jaw and loosened her face from his grip; his closeness was intoxicating, but her rage was fuelled and palpable. “I never, _never_ would have stopped looking for you. I would have moved high heaven and hell for you.”

 

“Milly, what did you expect me to do?”

 

“To damn well secure my safety, before the possession of that friggin’ Colt, Dean!” He froze as his hands feel to his sides; realisation struck.

 

“Is that what’s bothering you? That I asked you where the Colt was hidden?”

 

“I’m bothered because something else is always a priority.” Her tone reflected stone as he looked at her with indignation. “I’m bothered because I’m not worth wasting your hope on.”

 

“C’mon, do you really believe that?” His brow furrowed as he raised his voice slightly; his annoyance apparent. If it weren’t for Sam and his big mouth, he probably wouldn’t be in this mess.

 

“Well, I didn’t just say it for shits and giggles, now did I?” Dean opened his mouth to retort, but clamped it shut as Milly raised her eyebrows in warning. Clenching his fists at his side, Dean turned and opened the door, stepping out into the cold.

 

“This ain’t worth fightin’ over, Milly.” Dean pursed his lips, “I ain’t fightin’ with you, when I just got you back.”

 

Milly walked to the door and gripped the oak with a strained hand; replying in only one syllable, before she slammed the door in his face, “Fine.”

 

“Fine!” Milly rolled her eyes at his riposte.  _Men_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had little thought.
> 
> Depending on how many people interact with this story; I was thinking about letting you guys have a say/preference for whom Milly finally ends up with. 
> 
> I have two or three alternate endings planned; but I was curious to see how guys, as the audience, would react as the story progresses.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Thank you so so much for reading; I hope it was worth it!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

Somewhere along the track, Milly had taken the wrong turn. Pausing momentarily, she plucked an earphone out of her ear and looked around; her blonde curls fraying around her damp forehead, her grey eyes wide but unalarmed. Her joggers scuffed against the loose gravel and dead leaves, as she turned in a 360-degree fashion. “Well, shit.” Her tone was hushed as she began to jog back the way she came, her eyes scanning the canopy for any trace of sunlight.

 

It was only early morning; the air cool and the sky had only just begun to lighten. Her mind had been too frantic for her to get any sleep. Instead, she spent most of the night glaring at the blaring red numbers on the motel analogue clock, beside the bed; cursing the existence of Sam and Dean Winchester. Milly knew she was being somewhat petulant; holding a grudge was never her forte. Previously, however, her life was not hanging above a dark, damp and foreboding abyss.

 

Yet, alas, Milly was not one to revel in the tangled emotions of guilt and depression. Partially, she knew that she had already forgiven the boys; truly. She just couldn’t shake the incessant need to punch one, if not both, in the throat. _You were always an angry child_ , her mother used to chastise her. Heaven forbid, if her mother actually realised the gravity and prophetic air of her words. Milly had been an angry child; that was an attribute that hadn’t attenuated.

 

Zipping her jumper up further to shield her neck from the oncoming wind, Milly huffed a breath of relief as the motel came back into view. Her eyes briefly scanned the carpark, but still, she saw no sign of the Impala. Her brow furrowed slightly; faintly, she had heard the engine drift off in the late hours of the night – to where, she had no clue. Discarding her concern, Milly shrugged lightly as she dug her hand into her jumper pocket; fishing out her room key. They’d be back.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Roughly, Milly tussled her curls in a towel, her head tipped upside down. Her cool gaze drifted over her jeans and tanned boots before she flicked her head upright and slung the towel over the back of a chair. Her bag was packed, discarded on her unkept bed; her clothes rolled and stuffed into the duffle.

 

She clucked her tongue as she glanced at the clock; 7:00 am. Pursing her lips, she grabbed her phone from the cheap wooden table and scrolled down to Dean’s number. Just as she pressed call, the low grumble of the Impala sifted through the gap underneath her door. Hanging up, Milly lofted her bag over her shoulder and glanced around the room briefly, to ensure she had not left anything behind. Nodding in approval, she slipped through the small opening she made with the door and flicked her wet curls over her shoulder.

 

“Blimey. Who did you offend?” Milly’s faint Australian accent made its debut, as her eyes widened at the sight of Sam; his left eye black and swollen, his lip split and his dignity somewhere a few miles down the road. He waved a hand at her uninvitingly, his eyes diverted; worried. Frowning, Milly turned and faced Dean; her brow quirked as she took him in, looking worse for wear. He shrugged past her, his expression vague and fleeting. Following them into their motel room, Milly dumped her duffle bag at the door and leant against the doorframe. Crossing her arms, she rested a boot against the wall and waited.

 

“I told you, we shouldn’t have left him, Dean.” Sam’s tone was short; threatening, almost.

 

“It was the right thing to do, Sammy.” Dean’s glare reflected ice, “You heard him.”

 

 _Missing_. Milly nodded lightly to herself, as she tried to piece together what she could. The boys threw insults back and forth; doubting each other’s abilities and judgement. Sighing, Milly forsook her prime seating, and made her way to the kitchenette. Standing on her tip-toes, she reached into the cabinet above the sink and fiddled around for the supplied first aid kit.

 

“You never think for yourself, Dean!”

 

“At least I listen to what Dad needs us to do!”

 

“Listen? You’re like a friggin’ soldier. Yes, Sir. No, Sir.”

 

“It’s called being a _good son_.” Standing inches apart, Sam and Dean toed the line. Their tones were venomous.

 

“Alright, enough!” Milly’s levelled tone shook the tense silence from wall to wall. Her sleety orbs caught Dean’s; a warning. Mumbling under his breath, he suddenly turned and walked into the bathroom; slamming the door dramatically. Sam lips twitched in aggravation, his back turned to Milly. She cleared her throat and firmly set the first aid kit on the table. “You. Here. Now.”

 

Sam’s head turned to the side, his gaze averted; but, he was listening. His shoulders tensed again as he turned to face her. Grabbing a seat, he turned the back of the chair to face Milly and sat down. His long arms draped over the back of the wooden chair, he glanced up at her; his expression shrouded as he searched her features, “you don’t need to do that.”

 

His tone was low as he spoke. Blotting a cotton bud with antiseptic, Milly shook her head lightly; feigning ignorance, “I haven’t got a clue what you’re on about.”

 

“Mediate. You don’t need to do it, Milly.” Sam’s voice was tinged with annoyance. He flinched lightly as she pressed the damp cotton against his bottom lip; her expression one of slight enjoyment at his reaction.

 

“Someone needs to do it, or you’d tear each other apart.” Her tone was sardonic, as she lifted his chin with her fingertips. Her grey gaze scanned his face as his brow furrowed; a sign he was thinking. Milly smiled lightly; he was always an open book, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

 

Sam nodded, his hazel eyes down cast. Milly threw the blood-laden cotton bud into the bin and reached for another, “you’re not a poor son, Sam.”

 

“Dean’s right. I never listen to Dad.” Sam pulled away and ran a hand through his brown curls, hastily, “but why does he have to be so bull-headed?”

 

“Because he’s John.” Milly tipped the antiseptic bottle upside down swiftly, and then upright again before she continued to dab at his lip, clearing the blood, “and a Winchester.” Milly winked at him, as he looked at her sheepishly from the corner of his eye. Exhaling, Sam leaned forward and rested his forehead against her stomach, his arms reaching up to wrap around her waist. His shoulders were tense with anxiety and rage; his whole body, rigid. Initially, Milly froze; her own body in shock at the contact – unsure, unfamiliar.

 

_But it’s Sam, Mil._

 

Reflexively, Milly’s muscles unlocked as her palms trailed up over his arms and shoulders; her breathing unremitting, giving no sign to her initial discomfort. Sam’s arms tightened around her slightly as her petite hands came to rest upon the back of his neck; her thumbs making small circles across his skin.

 

Dean cleared his throat; his lack of annunciation speaking more than his words could. Milly curled a loose strand behind her ear, before she glanced in his direction. Sam’s breathing hitched as his brother threw his jacket onto one of the motel beds; reactively, Sam loosened his grip on Milly and stood. Silently, he stepped to the side, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Milly’s gaze locked with Dean’s; her expression unreadable. His expression barren. She blinked expectantly, before she turned and closed the lid of the first aid kit. She pushed it to the side of the table and pushed Sam’s chair to the corner of the room.

 

The boys shuffled around the room purposelessly, eyeing each other with apology. Rolling her eyes lightly, Milly pointedly glanced at the door as she leant down and reached for the straps of her duffle bag, “We’re not getting any younger, boys.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly rubbed her temples as she listened to Dean describe the last few days. Apparently, a long lost, short-term friend of Sam’s turned out to be a demon possessed woman who freakishly communicated with the undead; with a chalice and sacrificial human blood, if it wasn’t already creepy enough. According to psycho Megs, her defunct mission was to capture John and do God knows what with him. _Probably kill him; how original._

 

“So where is she then?” Milly glanced between the brothers, as they slyly glanced at each other.

 

“That’s where we’re stuck.” Sam cleared his throat as he glanced at her over his shoulder. Milly raised her eyebrows in expectance; awaiting his elaboration.

Dean shifted in his seat as he tapped the steering wheel rhythmically; a sign of discomfort. Milly narrowed her eyes as she shifted her black aviators down the bridge of her nose, “Dean.” His fidgeting ceased as she spoke his name. Shuffling across the backseat, Milly placed her sunglasses on her head as she glanced out the window; scanning her surroundings. Her breath became wedged in her throat as her cheeks flushed in frustration; _Bobby bloody Singer_. Dean’s hazel orbs glanced at her apologetically in the rear-view mirror. _You’re dead_ , she mouthed as she pointed at him aggressively. For years, Milly had been able to avoid the only human who dared to call her by her full name. Her palms became clammy as Dean rolled the Impala to a halt; pulling the hand brake and ejecting himself out the of the front seat- before Milly could wrap her hands around his sweet, little neck. Closing her eyes briefly, Milly regulated her breathing.

 

_“She was possessed, Mil… I – I had to take her down – “_

_“Take her down? She wasn’t an_ animal _, Bobby. “_

“Milly? Are you coming?” Sam’s gentle voice eased her eyes open, his hand outstretched to help her out of the back. Smoothing her blonde curls back from her face, Milly nodded dimly before she took Sam’s hand and folded herself out of the backseat. He squeezed her fingertips lightly, giving her a faint smirk before turning towards the car yard.

 

A little too aggressively, Milly shut the door of the Impala; which in turn, caused Dean to scowl at her as he mumbled under his breath about her lack of respectful consideration. Shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, Milly bit her bottom lip subconsciously; not daring to ascend the porch steps that loomed before them.

 

“Millicent?” His tone was rough, but sweet. Milly flinched at the sound of her name; her hands clenched in her pockets. Casting her expression of disappointment and hurt to the side, Milly feigned reverence and turned to face the older hunter; although, she was anything but convincing. “I see ya still need a ‘bitta work on y’er greetings. What brings you here?” Bobby’s expression was muddled as he scanned Milly’s figure; she had grown into a fine woman. Curly, long blonde hair, wide grey eyes and olive skin; just like her Ma.

 

“Dad’s in some trouble and we need your help.” Dean brushed a hand over his mouth, as his gaze danced between Milly and Bobby; instantly regretting his epiphany of reuniting the pair. He truly believed after the last six months, providing some familiar solace for Milly would have given her some hope; now he just felt like an a-grade douchebag.

“What kinda trouble?” Bobby’s eyes narrowed as his glance switched between Sam and Dean.

 

“Demon trouble.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly threw her duffle bag onto the guest bed as she closed the door with the heel of her boot. Her gaze became transfixed by the dust particles that erupted from the indifferent blue sheets as her bag sunk into the mattress.

 

Dean should have told her; warned her. Instead he kept her in the dark, like he always did with decisions he knew she would oppose. God, she hated that. Rubbing her temples soothingly, Milly sat on the edge of the bed; her body suddenly feeling worn and heavy. Her blonde curls cascaded over her features as she rested her elbows on her knees and hung her head. Constantly being aggravated was exhausting; who knew it could whack so much out of a person.

 

Mindlessly, Milly reached back and unzipped her bag. Fiddling around, she plucked a tatty polaroid out of the side pocket and held it out in front of her. The sides were faded and creased but _her_ features were as clear as they ever had been. Milly ran a thumb over the woman’s cheek; pursing her lips in an attempt to ward off her ever-growing discomfort. A man stood beside the captured woman, his arm draped around her waist; a smile adorning his ruddy cheeks, his flannel stained but loved and his trucker’s cap well past it’s due date. A little girl crouched in front of them, her rowdy blonde curls pointing in every-which direction; her face and hands smothered in the oil that belonged to the derelict car milieu of the photo.

 

_God damn, I miss you Ma._

The oak door of the bedroom creaked open; snapping Milly out of her daze. Folding the polaroid in her palm, Milly glanced up expectantly. Dean stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into the tiny front pockets of his dark washed jeans; his hair dishevelled and his eyes curious. He stood in the silence momentarily; which, to his credit, Milly admitted was probably one of the only times she had seen him not attempting to fill the void with some sort of chauvinistic comment.

 

Her dainty eyebrows raised slightly as the silence dragged on to the point of being awkward, “Wanna tell me why yo - “

 

“I hope you don’t mind me draggin’ you here.” Dean’s words tumbled over Milly’s; his expression mixed with inquiry and foolhardiness. Scoffing lightly, Milly straightened her posture as she shuffled slightly back onto the bed; her palms splayed out behind her as she leaned back.

 

“Mind? You didn’t even think to give me a head’s up, Dean.” Lazily, she blew a stray curl from her vision as she watched him stumble at the door; over his words or physical balance, she wasn’t sure.

 

“You wouldn’t have come if I had’da told you, Mil.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding.” Milly flicked her hand around in a blasé manner, her tone anything but sarcastic; her lack of willingness to be in the Singer house was palpable.

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck impatiently; already he could see where this was headed, and it wasn’t anywhere enthralling. Half-heartedly, he attempted to reign in his temper; yet, his expression said otherwise. Even to himself, his emotions about having her back were murky and jumbled; having Milly add on her own frustrations just made him feel even more distant from her, than when he had thought she was gone. “Look, you’re here now. So, try and make the most of it, will ya.”

 

Milly noted the strain of his posture; the way he leaned slightly to the right and hunched his shoulders as if to protect himself from all that was coming at him, head-on. His brow creased more now so than it had before; his features seemed to have aged, even if he were only twenty-six. Closing her eyes briefly, Milly inhaled deeply as she pushed herself to her feet. _I don’t want to be angry anymore_.

 

It was one thing to think it, yet another thing to act upon it.

 

“You’re right.” Her tone was low as she wrapped her unbuttoned flannel shirt around her waist; shielding herself. “I’m angry, Dean. I’m really fucking angry… I-it’s like this rumbling in my stomach that is constantly there.” She kept her eyes averted as they scoured the floor, as if looking for the words that escaped her. “I can’t sleep without thinking I’ll wake up in that bloody cage, just waiting to be dragged out. I mean, it’s not that I went through it. Big fucking whoop, right? But _people_ , Dean, people have gone through that and they can’t help themselves and I just sat there and did jack all… I – “

 

Her eyes burnt with weeping rage. Sensing her distress, Dean closed the gap between them and wrapped her in his arms; one hand against her waist and the other tangled in her hair. He was warm; steady; _real_. Milly closed her eyes and breathed him in; her fingers gripping onto his shirt. Her chest heaved as it released; a weight lifted that she didn’t want to acknowledge she was carrying. As if the guilt of actively carrying the burden, was just as strong as the burden itself. 

 

In all her babbling, Dean knew what she was trying to say. _She_ should have been the one to rescue those victims. _She_ was a hunter, not some back-end tourist who got kidnapped in some hick town. Instead, she felt vulnerable and defenceless against the shadows that lurked in the night; and that enraged her, belittled her even. But all that meant to him was that she was _human_ , not weak. Pressing her closer, Dean turned his head and placed his lips against her temple. He felt her lax against him, as she nestled her head into his shoulder, “Milly, I – “

 

“ _Dean!_ ” A strident cracking resounded downstairs, as Sam’s voice echoed through the house; forcing both Dean and Milly apart. Cursorily, they locked glances before bounding down the stairs, two at a time. Whirling around the corner, Milly caught herself on the door frame as she searched the room for the source of the sound.

 

“Hello, boys.” Her voice was slick as oil. Milly’s head flicked to her right, as her steely gaze coupled onto a shadowed frame. The woman sauntered forward, her figure blurred by the streaming sunlight. As she moved further into the room, Milly assessed her features; blonde hair, brown eyes and a surreptitious smirk. “You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you?”

 

_Psycho Megs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer post for you guys and gals!  
> I'm so sorry I haven't got to post in a while; I'm currently on university placement, so life has been a little hectic!
> 
> A lot was aroused within this chapter; especially some things from Milly's past - which I will build on! Chapter Four is really about getting to know Milly. From here on out I will start to stray from the original SPN plot and start to meld it into my own. Get keen! I'm so excited to start sharing it with you all! So many plans! Eek!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Leave a note in the comments if you want to see anything in particular or anything for me to work on. Have a glorious day! :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

_“Now you lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord, my soul to keep. Guide and guard me through the night and wake me with the morning’s light. Amen. “_

_Milly grinned widely as she mimicked the words; her grey eyes solely focussed on the movement of her mother’s lips.  Brushing her blonde curls back from her face with small, pudgy palms, Milly poked her tongue through the gap of her front teeth cheekily, as she eyed her Ma._

_“Time for bed, darlin’.” Her Ma leant down and kissed her daughter’s forehead; her hand brushing lightly over Milly’s untamed mane. Swiftly, she untucked the sheets from beneath the three-year-old toddler and held them up high, like a tent. Milly followed suit, as she burrowed herself under her doona and flopped her head onto her cloud-like pillow. Stretching, Milly raised her arms above her head; a giggle escaped as her Ma tickled her under arms, “I love you, my sweet girl.”_

_“I lo’ you, mama.” Milly rolled onto her side, her hands drawn up beside her cheek as she traced the patterned material with a stout finger; her eyes drifting close without much effort._

_Milly’s eyes snapped open; her room malformed. Lifting her hands up above her face, Milly was affronted by her own, grown hands. Shifting her head on her pillow, Milly gazed at her bed-side clock; 8:30 am. Her steely gaze drifted to the calendar beside her bed; 11 thof June 1999. _

_Propelling herself out of bed, Milly wrenched her door open and flew down the staircase. Briefly she paused, her glance catching a frame of a woman, a man and a child, positioned on a small, oak buffet; the polaroid. Swallowing her anxiety, Milly bolted down the last of the steps; frantic, fearful._

_““She was possessed, Mil… I – I had to take her down – “The man from the photo stood above her mother; one hand clenching at his ripped flannel, the other gripping a shotgun._

_Milly’s body went numb; couldn’t he have just exorcised the demon? Her eyes became glued to her Ma’s deformed corpse; her blood stained the tiles, her hair matted and her eyes empty and vague, “T…Take her down? She wasn’t an_ animal _, Bobby. “Milly’s hand flew to her mouth; the full gravity of what had just happened smashing into her like a rogue truck on a highway ridden with cars. Pushing Bobby aside roughly, Milly fell to her knees and gently looped her hands underneath her mother’s head. Cradling what was left of her in her lap, Milly’s face crumpled as she let out a small cry, “What happened to just exorcising the demon?”_

_“She came at me, Milly. What was I supposed to do?” Bobby placed the shotgun on the kitchen table, his tone grim, “it’s what she would’ve wanted, girly.”_

_“Wanted? You didn’t give her a damn choice!” Milly rocked herself as she ran a hand softly over her mother’s features, her tears pooling onto the corpses’ devoid features, “Come back, Ma. You can’t leave me here; you promised to stay. You_ promised. _Ma? C – Come back. Oh god, please.”_

Milly’s body jolted as a warm presence brushed against her cheek. Lithely, she hooked her leg around the figure and pushed back with all of her weight; her hand flicking from her waist band, to the throat of her assumed aggressor. Bluntly, she pressed the blade against his throat; her grey eyes daring, and her spare hand placed threateningly behind his neck – forcing his skin to graze her weapon.

 

“Jesus, Mil. Hey, it’s me!” His tone was husky and borderline offended, as she sat straddled against his lap in the driver’s seat of the Impala. Blinking slowly, Milly’s vision cleared as she peered at him through her stray, dishevelled blonde curls. Reaching up, Dean carefully gripped her poised wrist and lowered her Gerber blade; gulping lightly in relief as he distanced it from his jugular. His hazel eyes scanned her features as he smirked lightly; his gaze pausing on her parted lips. His thumb began to rub small circles against her thigh, as she released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding; her palm against the back of his neck softened.

 

“Hey!” Sam rapped his knuckles against the roof of the Impala.

 

“Hey, knock it off!” Dean’s reaction was automatic as a scowl cuffed his brow. Unaffected by such an announcement, Milly reached up and adjusted her grey singlet straps before climbing off of Dean’s lap. Opening the door swiftly, Milly folded herself out of the car and stretched; her body feeling wired and tense from her nightmare. Not to mention, the previous few nights of psycho Megs’ sleep over. After hours of gruelling over her sadistic plans for the Winchester boys, Dean and Sam had solely agreed on exorcising her back to a place she truly feared; which, at that point, Meg sung like a canary. Milly could still feel the weight of Meg Masters’ head in her hands as she prioritised thanking them for freeing her and helping them find John; rather than ranking the fact that she had a disgruntled spine and god knows what else, while she bled out on Bobby’s Singer’s floor. Brushing her obnoxious curls back from her face, she brushed her palms over the thighs of her blue washed jeans and squinted out at her surroundings.

 

“Dad’s in there.” Sam pointed to a building across the way, “That’s where Meg said he would be.”

 

Milly placed her hand on her forehead, in relative salute, to shield her eyes from the sun; assessing the building, “John won’t be in there alone. They tried every angle to get to him in the first place.” She turned to face Dean, who shrugged in thoughtful agreeance as he looked to Sam. “Well then, let’s get them out here for a meet and greet.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly leant against the bonnet of the Impala, her eyes scanning the building as occupants began to flood the street. The fire alarm had been set off five minutes previous, and yet, still people were taking their time. _They’d all bloody well burn with those survival instincts._

“Son of a bitch.” Milly swivelled her head lazily as a thump resounded from the back of the car. Rubbing the back of his head, Dean walked towards her; fireman helmet clasped in his hand. Pursing her lips, Milly attempted to hold back a snort – but failed. Pointing his index finger at her in warning, Dean eyed her cautiously.

 

“Righto, of you go. I’ll wait for the signal.” Milly rolled her eyes as Dean shifted proudly in his get-up. Sam followed in suit, his frame looming over his brother.

 

“Wait.” Dean yanked Sam back as he stopped mid-stride. Turning on his heel, he jogged back towards Milly. Moving past her, Dean balanced his helmet on the Impala’s bonnet as he shifted towards the boot of the car. Flicking up the hatch, he leaned in and fiddled around momentarily. Glancing around him, Dean clicked the boot shut and hustled his way back to her. “No better time than now, or something like that.”

 

“It’s ‘no better time like the present’.” Milly chuckled as Dean extended his arm, shrugging nonchalantly; who cared about the intricacies of the saying. Unexpectedly, Milly reached out and grasped the butt of the gun. Instantly, her skin flared as she wrapped her fingers around it; a sense of familiarity knocking her side ways. Looking down, Milly was greeted by her old buddy; her second baby; her Da’s Browning ’45. “Dean…”

 

“I know. You can tell me you love me later.” Reaching behind her, he snatched his helmet and winked at her in passing. Clipping Sam up beside the head, he chuckled as they both jogged towards the faux burning building.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly had propped herself on the bonnet of the Impala; leaning back against her outstretched arms, her legs dangling, and her head hung back towards the sun; inviting its touch. Her blonde curls brushed the tips of her fingers as she closed her eyes; soaking in the interim peace. At her side, her phone buzzed incessantly. Frowning she picked it up; unphased. “Yes?”

 

“Son of a b – Milly?” Dean’s voice erupted through the speaker; rushed, his breathing harsh. Rolling her head to the side, Milly ended the call as she slid down off the polished car. Shoving her cell into the folds of her back pocket, Milly nicked her black leather jacket from the passenger seat of the Impala and threaded her arms through it; lithely, she tucked her Browning ’45 into the back of her belt and adjusted her jacket to sit fittingly over the bulge.

 

Her black military boots clacked against the asphalt calmly, as she strode towards the building. Her grey eyes surveyed her surrounding like a predator on the prowl, as she swiftly tied her long ringlets into a plait. She nodded blasély to the official firefighters as they passed; hushed discussions about the false alarm drifted past her as she nudged through the crowd. Squeezing her way around the corner of the building, Milly looked around for a way in; scratching her head lightly, she pursed her lips before she looked above her. _Fire escape_.

 

Surely, she could reach it. Crouching low, Milly propelled herself upward; closing her eyes briefly on the way down; hoping that she wouldn’t land like the klutz she truly could be. Her fingers brushed the lowest rung of the ladder, but not enough to grasp it and pull it down. Rolling her eyes, Milly strained her hands against the back of her neck and reclined her head slightly; mumbling profanities. Biting her bottom, Milly cast a side long glance to the dumpster a metre or so to her right. She wouldn’t be able to push or pull it, but maybe…

 

Hiking the legs of her jeans up a tad, Milly hoisted herself onto the closed lid of the dumpster and turned to face the fire escape; one chance, and if she failed then she would think about committing firefighter fraud. Preparing herself, Milly flicked her plait over her shoulder and stretched her arms across her body; exhaling deeply.

 

“You got this, Mil.” Milly glanced down at her feet and crouched, “Just remind the boys the lengths you go to, to save their arses.” Milly nodded to herself; whether in general jest or reassurance, she wasn’t sure. Grunting lightly, Milly boosted herself off the unstable dumpster with all her might; her arms stretching to lengths she didn’t know were possible. It seemed like her air-time was longer than the few seconds it took for her to grasp the second bottom rung of the ladder. Grinning, Milly scaled the fire escape and squeezed her body through the small gap, placed just before the ascendance of the stairs. Rubbing her hands over her face, Milly shook her head as she got to her feet. What floor were they on again?

 

Milly checked her phone for any texts; but had received none. Shrugging her shoulders, Milly shoved her cell into her jacket pocket and began to ascend the stairs. Taking two at a time, she cursed herself for being slack with her cardiovascular health; _man, it’s like they never end_. Just because she ran here and there, didn’t mean she was in peak marathon condition. She glimpsed up above her to see how many flights she had climbed before her head snapped to her left; a crash resounded from the unit, followed by some colourful language that would sully the purity of a nun. _Dean_.  

 

Slipping her gun out from the back of her belt; Milly clocked the pistol and opened the window with a steady hand. Glass lay shattered at her feet, blood blotted against the freshly-cleaned carpet. Sam and Dean were found folded against a closet door, shrieking at each other. Lithely, Sam leaned down and circled a layer of salt around the door’s entrance. Bending through the narrow window, Milly leaped down from the sill; the fragmented glass creaking under her leather boots.

 

“What took you so long?” Dean looked at her dubiously as he ushered both himself and Sam to the open bedroom. Milly snorted lightly and glared at him derisively, before she followed them. As she walked through the door frame, she was sourly welcomed by the image of John tied down to the bed; his skin torn and lashed, his breathing shallow. “Dad? _Dad_.” Dean called out to his father, slapping his cheek lightly. Impatiently, he wiggled his fingers in Sam’s direction. Reading his cue, Sam reached into his jacket pocket and tossed his brother a flask of holy water. Squinting in reservation, Dean flicked the liquid over John’s flaccid body; breathing a sigh of relief when all the consecrated water seemed to do was dampen John’s clothing. Gingerly, he glanced at Sam before pointing to the restraints. Eagerly, Sam leapt forward and untied his father’s battered hands and ankles.

 

Gripping her gun, Milly glanced over her shoulder cautiously. By the time she glanced back at Sam and Dean, they had John looped over their shoulders; ready to bolt. Nodding adeptly, Milly gripped her Browning tighter and turned on her heel; pivoting to face the unit’s door.

 

Naturally, Milly lead the boys through the building’s corridors; bobbing and weaving around the corners; weapon aimed and steady. The silence between the hunters was deafening as Milly nudged a stairwell door open with her hip. Nodding to them promptly, Sam and Dean angled themselves sideways to pass through the doorframe in one, swift movement. John mumbled absentmindedly as they trotted down the stairs, his head lolling back and forth. Dean’s brow furrowed as he kicked the exit open with a sturdy boot; flicking his head around to see Milly galloping down the stairs, her blonde curls dancing wildly as she checked behind her once more. She smiled fleetingly as she squeezed through the small gap between the doorframe and Dean, as he held the exit open with his backside to allow her to get through safely.

 

“Uh, uh, uh.” Reflexively, Milly spun on her heel and raised her weapon; her finger applying light pressure to the trigger. A civilian stood before them; his eyes raven black and his expression twisted into a sickening grin. He crouched down low, licking his lips; ready to pounce. As he leaped forward, Milly lowered her gun and shot him once in each thigh; hoping to slow him down. The demon paused, gazed down and laughed hysterically, “You think that’ll st –“A shot, followed by ringing resounded in Milly’s ears, as a thread of smoke caught her peripherals. Wide eyed, Milly twisted her torso to glance at the boys; as the demon vessel convulsed in shocks of lightening-like volts, before collapsing onto the asphalt.

 

Her grey orbs paused on the smouldering barrel of the Colt, “Oooh, John’s gonna be pissed, D.”

 

“Shut up, Milly. Move your arse.” Dean shoved the gun into the back of his jeans as he glanced side-ways at an unreadable Sam, before hoisting an unconscious John into a more carriable position. Briefly, Milly caught Dean’s expression drop as his eyes landed upon the now dead, human body splayed across the road. Blowing a stray curl out of her vision in exasperation, Milly gave his shoulder a nudge and glanced around them once more before breaking into a jog towards the Impala.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Milly tapped her fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel of the stolen Ford Carnival. Her head was perched against her folded knuckles, as her elbow rested against the car window; her gaze staring lazily at the road. Between Dean, Sam and herself, they had deducted that splitting off would have been the best gameplay. For a while, they argued that the split off should work as a two-on-two, but neither of the boys wanted to leave John in his vulnerable state. Hence, her forlorn and premature advent into soccer mum-hood.

 

Pulling the brim of her red cap down further across her blank expression, Milly rubbed a hand over her mouth as she glanced out towards her surroundings. She’d left the Colt with Sam and Dean; and, if she were being honest, she wasn’t confidently certain that that had been her brightest idea. Two bullets had already been used; Milly wasn’t exactly sure how many they had left, but she knew that using a menial number of two, still did not bode well for the original plan.  Sam was still as hell bent as ever to get his hands on that damn yellow-eyed demon; of late his quiet and benevolent mannerisms had morphed into desperate and brash decision making. If Milly picked it apart, she could see why; Sam had had structure, a relatively normal life. He had a long-term girlfriend, a law school interview and minimal contact with his family; which appeared to be ideal. But once that was stripped away, Sam had reverted back to an on-the-edge, hasty guy; not to mention the unrelenting and migraine inducing visions he had apparently been getting, or so says Dean. Milly wasn’t surprised that Sam’s cheese was slowly slipping from his cracker. _Then_ , there was John. Milly inhaled deeply; her anxiety rising through the vicarious stress she was experiencing. That was something she hadn’t missed, during her six-month detour. John, was, well, John – stubborn, obsessive and vengeful. Which, under the circumstances of the poor Winchester karma, seemed justifiable.

 

But, Dean. Milly lightly chuckled and shifted her posture, so that both hands now gripped the steering wheel. Pushing her skull stiffly against the headrest, Milly arched her back and stretched. Her shoulders dropped slightly as she retreated back into her thoughts. _Dean_. His passion for revenge was as strong as Sam and John’s; he had just been going about it in an elusive, yet brooding manner. Although, there was no denying his relatively uncouth tactics. Dean was loud, obnoxious and possibly the biggest man-handler Milly had ever come across; but underneath, he was a man that never had the opportunity to be a boy. All that riled vulnerability and child-like appeal manifested into unhealthy eating habits and toxic relational strategies; not to mention his dysmorphic self-image.

 

Milly rubbed the back of her neck; maybe she was being too harsh. She quirked her brow in rebuttal; maybe not.  All she knew was that she wouldn’t change them for the world; as much as they rubbed her the wrong way, she loved them like they were her own. They _were_ her own.

 

Her eyes began to strain. She’d been on the road on and off for a few days now. She figured if she headed back towards Bobby’s, the boys would come around to rendezvous there too. It seemed to be the common meeting ground of late, much to her discomfort. At some point she’d have to confront Bobby; yet, she’d been psyching herself up for the past five years. _Six years_ , she corrected herself. Milly debated whether to stay an extra night at a motel. _Don’t be such a pussy, Mil._ She was only thirty minutes out from Bobby’s; a place where her accommodation and food were free. Although it’d save her a fair bit of cash, that wasn’t her primary concern; her concern was whether both of them could make it ‘til morning.

 

Milly blinked herself out of her imprisoning thoughts as her phone began to buzz. Juggling it in her fingers, Milly accepted the call and pressed it to her ear, “Hey Sam. At Bobby’s already?” The line was silent. Confused, Milly strayed the phone from her ear and glanced at the caller ID; _Sam Winchester_. Hesitantly, Milly balanced the phone between the side of her head and her shoulder as she made a left turn. “Sam?”

 

“Milly?” Her stomach unclenched as his voice drifted through speaker, “Did you say you were already at Bobby’s?”

 

“No, I asked if you were. I’m about twenty minutes off, why?” Milly’s tone dropped as Sam remained silent again; his breathing shallow. “Sam, what is going on?”

 

“We found the yellow demon and it kinda went south, Mil.” Sam paused; hushed tones echoed lowly, “Thank you, doctor… Milly?”

 

Milly pulled the car over, her stomach ceasing, “Sam, bloody hell, finish a sentence.”

 

“We had a crash. Dean’s in pretty bad shape.” His distraught tone became evident at Milly’s blunt manner.

 

Closing her eyes, Milly clenched her lips together; unsure whether to be furious, worried or both, “define bad shape.”

 

“I need a Ouija board, kinda bad shape.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya guys and gals!
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! good things are coming in the next few chapters so be prepared!   
> I know I said I would stray from the SPN plot line, but I have decided to extend it a liiiiiiiittle further; just so I can get to a pinnacle event (hint, hint), and then make my own tangent :)
> 
> Please don't be fearful to give me improvement advice or things you would like to see unfold in the upcoming chapters!
> 
> Stay groovy, I'll post again shortly!


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in any way own the original characters of Supernatural, nor do I own the foundational plot line. I have tweaked the plot to suit my own perception of this story. The only character I solely own is Millicent Taylor.

Milly bit the inside of her cheek, for what felt like the billionth time; so much so, she was sure she’d chewed a gory hole into the flesh. Her eyes scanned the parking lot fervently as she gripped the steering wheel. Jarring her shoulder, she swerved into a free space and yanked the parking break up stiffly; the still rolling tyres grinding to a halt.  Leaning over the middle console, Milly snatched a dusty cardboard box from the passenger seat; all the while, already preparing herself to leap out of the car as her thigh nudged desperately at the door. Patience had never been her strong suit.

 

Adjusting her cap over her curls, Milly neglected to lock the car as she skipped across the asphalted car park; who cares if the soccer mum car was stolen, it wasn’t hers anyway. _At this rate I can’t even keep the Winchester boys kickin’ and fussin’, let alone a child_. She scoffed heartily at the ill-placed humour. Squeezing through the hospital entrance doors, Milly hooked the cardboard box under her armpit and smiled warmly at the administration nurse, “Hello, I’m looking for a Dean Winchester?”

 

Hesitantly, the woman scanned Milly’s frame; her eyes discerning her dishevelled state, “Are you family?”

 

Milly’s mind paused in its reeling; who asked that anymore? Blinking slowly, Milly’s gaze scanned the nurse’s left hand; the glint of a dainty diamond catching her eye. Slowly, she trailed her own left hand up into her curls and scratched the back of her neck, “That’s if he doesn’t die on me…” _Low blow, Mil_.

 

The nurse’s brow furrowed before her glanced flicked to Milly’s concealed hand; her eyes widened in understanding, “I see… it can be such a sticky situation in _our_ circumstance. Just this once now, you hear?” Milly nodded gratefully as the nurse rifled through a stack of papers wedged to a blue plastic clipboard, “Room 403. Take the elevator to level four and then make a sharp right.”

 

Spinning on her heel, Milly made her way to the elevator; clicking the ascend button incessantly, like an impatient child with a twitch. Unwillingly, her eyes scanned the level description by the door.

 

_Level 4: ICU Wing and Cardiovascular Imaging._

Milly’s mouth went dry as she averted her eyes. _God help me._

 

She felt as if her feet were travelling a hundred miles per minute before she glanced down at her dusty boots. Really, it was more like two steps per minute. Trying to find reason, Milly assured herself that it was the level labelling that threw her off. _ICU; Intensive Care Unit_. Milly cleared her throat and smiled vaguely at a passing nurse.

 

_You always knew how to get the job done, D._

 

Glancing from her peripherals, Milly noted the room number 403; and from within, the rasping silence of an unconscious patient. Grasping the cardboard box in cradled arms, Milly pressed the worn container to her abdomen as she peeked around the stark-coloured doorframe. Milly’s grey orbs floated across his still form; from the tips of his covered toes; to his barely heaving chest; to his painfully peaceful expression.

 

People say you question someone’s take on life when they die; how they treated others, their attitudes, hell, even their past stories that moulded who they were. _You_ judge them. Truth is, people have it all wrong; you question all _you_ were to that certain someone during their time here on earth. Milly’s features flinched as her thoughts reeled. Who had she been to Dean? Her heart sunk at her recollection of the past week.

 

Yanking harshly on her red cap, Milly shuffled into the room; her eyes downcast in shameful thought. Tossing the cardboard box onto the bedside table, Milly brushed her fingertips over Dean’s unclasped hand. His skin was rough but warm; tender. Clenching her jaw, Milly cast her eyes over his scathed face; his hair dishevelled and mussed. Scrunching her nose in emotional frustration, Milly bent down and pressed her lips firmly to his forehead. Clenching her eyes closed, she brushed a hand lightly across his cheek and jaw, “Don’t you dare go leavin’ when I’m not finished with you, D.”

 

“Milly?”

 

Turning her head to the side, Milly managed to distinguish Sam between her stray, thick curls and watery eyes, “Sam…” Daring to separate herself from Dean, Milly found herself within Sam’s reach; her fingertips curled around the fabric of his shirt as she pulled herself flush against his torso. Protectively, Sam wrapped himself around her; his chin resting against her cap as his heavy eyes glided over his wounded brother.

 

They stood there, silently. Milly noticed her breathing had naturally synced with his; his thumbs now making slow circles against the small of her back. Sniffing, she pried herself from his grasp; pushing her arrogant curls back underneath her red cap as she adjusted it. Absentmindedly, she pointed to the cardboard box she had insisted on carting about, “I didn’t know if you were able to get your hands on one, so I bought…”

 

Milly side-stepped as she grappled the box and took the lid off; revealing an oak Ouija board. Running his fingers through his brown curls, Sam smiled vacantly as he detached his gaze from Dean, “Oh, jeez. Thanks, Mil. I was on my way to get one, when the nurse said someone had come to visit Dean. I…”

 

Milly sensed his struggle; her eyes softened. She could only fathom the anguish she felt seeing Dean so vulnerable. Yet, this emotion would only be a small insight into Sam’s internal turmoil; the physical torment of watching his brother slip from him into a world he knew more about than he would ever care to admit. Slowly, Milly ran her hand up his forearm and across his shoulder, squeezing gently. His, now, brown orbs found hers; their ever-changing colour drawing Milly in further, just like they always had. More so, his eyes were doors that kept his pain all too well hidden from the world. Well, to all but Milly; a trait in which her acute perception had caused many a scorn and argument among the three hunters. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as her thumb kneaded his muscles.

 

“Why don’t you go check on your dad and get a coffee? I’ll stay here and watch Dean.” Milly cocked her head lightly, as she looked up at Sam; her smile offering the kindness and warmth he craved. Hesitantly, he nodded; a sigh of heavy burden leaving his lips.

 

As he turned out the door, his tall frame paused as he leaned a hand against the doorway; his head turned, he glanced at Milly. His features softened; lightened even, as Milly returned his unspoken words of gratitude with a simple, adoring smile.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

_Milly_.

 

Suspiciously, Milly’s grey orbs peered over the pages of her book. It had only happened twice; but each time reminded her of an incessant 10-year-old, trying to catch her attention. A familiar 10-year-old in a 26-year-old’s body.  Dog-tagging the corner of her page, Milly set the hard-cover down on the stoic hospital buffet. Flinging her legs down from the chair, she rested her elbows on her bent knees and glanced around the room.

 

“Sam, quit bein’ a dork.” Her sneer was dubious and surprisingly sceptical, even to her own ears. No response; nada; silence. Not that she expected much more. Lolling her head from side to side in attempted jest, Milly pursed her lips and glanced around the room for any trace of her seemingly invisible audience, “Alright, little bit spooky.”

 

“Well, if you hadn’t gone all Saint Jude and just got the job done; we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

 

“Don’t put that on me – “

 

“Oh, I’m putting it on you.”

 

Milly’s eyes pinched together; in exhaustion, frustration or disbelief, she wasn’t sure. Was this really the time to have a bitch fit over the fact that Sam’s compassion outweighed his murderous tendencies?

 

“Bloody hell..” It was all but a whisper that got swept up in the dramatic tirade that was a Winchester reunion.

 

“Pull the trigger, Sam. It ain’t that hard. Now, look.” John’s finger pointed rigidly at his incapacitated son. Shamefully, Sam’s gaze trailed to the hospital bed. Raking a hand through his hair, he gasped heavily; his mouth moving silently in a desperate attempt to find the right and justifiable words. “Take a good damn look –“

 

“I am looking!” Sam’s response was purely explosive; his feet planted into the floor as if to sow roots. As if on cue, Milly’s head snapped to her right as a glass hurled itself across the room. Her eyes trailed from the shattered cup to Sam; her hands frozen, rigidly framing her face.

 

“I call dibs.” Instantly on her feet, Milly nudged her way between father and son; her fingers outstretched, eager to curl themselves around the Ouija board. But, alas, Sam’s reflexes were cat-like as he snatched it from her grasp; a grin lacing his lips, as Milly’s mouth audibly snapped closed in feigned hurt. Clearing the floor, Sam sat down crossed-legged with the board placed delicately in front of him. Curling his hair behind his ears meticulously, he cleared his throat and looked up expectantly.

 

“What don’t look at me,” Milly shrugged with ease, maintaining her charade of underappreciated partner in crime. Expressively, she waved her fingers in the direction of his head, her eyes widened in exasperation, “you’re the one with the witchy, voodoo telekinetic _thing_.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes before his attention momentarily averted to a disappearing John, “…It’s more like prophetic visions.”

 

Sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, Milly bit her lip and hummed; giving him the false pretence of her considering his definition, “Ah nope, I think I had it right the first time, Obi-Wan.”

 

“It’s not – “

 

“Milly?” John’s voice overlapped his son’s. As Milly turned, her own gaze was greeted with the older Winchester’s; a warning. Frowning slightly, she took the phone he extended to her and excused herself from the room.

 

“This is Milly.”

 

“Gotta job for ya, girly.” His voice was rough and southern; a sound which could make her break out in hives, if it tried hard enough.

 

“You know where I am. I can’t just leave. It could be the last time I see – “

 

“When did you become such a butterball?” It was meant as a jest; one she did not take lightly. “Ah, come on, Mil. You know I wouldn’t call y’er if it wasn’t important to ya.”

 

“One, _don’t_ call me Mil, _Robert_.” Her hand clasped the phone until her knuckles were white, as she gazed back into room 403. “Secondly, what could be so important, eh? Dean’s –“

 

“I know where he is, girly.”

 

“You have thirty seconds and then I hang up.”  

 

“I have a lead on your Da.”

 

Silence.

 

Milly scanned the floor beneath her feet; debating what, she wasn’t quite certain herself. Lithely, she slid the phone away from her ear and hung up; her head bowed and shadowed from her cap as she re-entered the room.

 

“Who was it?”

 

Milly clenched her jaw as she chucked John his phone; her nod of gratitude, curt, “Bobby. I’ve gotta go, Sam.”

 

“What? Milly, you’re kidding, Dean –“

 

“Let her go, Sammy.”

 

Milly bent down next to Sam; his penetrating gaze one of anger and disappointment. A lethal combo, “you call me when he wakes up, you hear?” Sam shook his head stiffly; words once again escaping him. Unfortunately for him, Milly was one a one-way train to I-don’t-give-a-fuck-ville; population Millicent and Papa Taylor. Leaning in, she chastely kissed his cheek and clipped his chin with a hooked index finger, “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t think you could get him back.” Sam glanced at her from the corner of his eye; his terse nod was all the response she needed.

 

Pushing through her heels, Milly stood and gave a two-fingered salute to the older Winchester as she made her way to the door, “Next time, Johnny.” He smirked as she rounded the corner; his head bowed as he shook it lightly. Hell, were his boys in for a ride with that one. Milly veered herself towards the end of the hallway and jabbed the elevators descend button; her grey orbs mystified.

 

_Buzz._

 

Milly shook her head half-heartedly as she reached into her back pocket. Glancing down, she recognised the ID. _Old bugger still has my number_.

 

_415 N Miller Ave, Gillette, WY 82716_.

 

_Gotcha._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G'day guys and gals!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm so sorry it took me so long to post, I have been swamped with University assessments these past few weeks; it makes me want to weep! But, glory days, she has a chapter ladies and gents! 
> 
> This one was a liiiittle bit of a bridging chapter so I can start to sew my own plot twist in nicely; let's hope it turns out as well as I hope! Like always, please leave comments of improvement, love-interest preference or whatever you feel moved to post - if you feel moved to post! 
> 
> Thank you for the love and the reading! Stay snazzy, 'til next time :)


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